All of the promise that was there when we were eighteen has just gotten better with age. Those deep brown eyes that I looked into that night while he promised me everything. His dark hair, longer on top, always falling forward. Broad shoulders, strong. The scruff along his chin is new, the urge to reach up and give it a tug is compelling.
“No, you know what? Just, no.” The words tumble out of my mouth. “I can’t believe it’s you, after all this time, here you are, just standing here, looking like you do,” that part didn’t need to be out loud. “I don’t need this right now, we had a minute of happiness, it was a long time ago, and I’ve got too much other crap going on in my life. So...fuck...somewhere out there, past friendzone in the back forty? I need you to go sit there.” And while he processes that load of verbal vomit, I jump in my car, start it up and drive away, leaving him staring after me.
I live just a few blocks away in a colonial home in the historic district. Just the right size for a family, mental sob. Scott and I moved in less than a year ago. I’d hoped to be expecting by now, sadly, I’m just glad that it didn’t happen before he left. It feels big, living here alone, but I’ve decided I’m staying. It’s beautiful and has some projects I want to tackle.
“Mmrowll?” Mitzy wanders up, curling around my ankles to remind me that I don’t, point of fact, live here alone. She’s a beautiful orange long haired cat, just old enough to be out of the kitten stage. I consider her at the ‘very vocal teen’ phase. Reaching down, I give her ears a rub and head for the kitchen to feed her, refusing to let my brain return to Enrique just yet.
Mitzy’s bowl filled, a kettle of water boiling for tea, fire lit and crackling, I busy myself looking through the mail until the kettle whistles. Only when I’m in my favorite chair by the fire do I allow myself to think about what happened this afternoon.
It’s been years, but it feels like days since Ricky and I had one magical summer. Holding hands, kissing by the river under the stars...the last night I saw him he took me up to the old hayloft on his grandma’s farm. He’d strung twinkle lights and laid sleeping bags on a pile of hay. Ricky was my first time.
All the whispered promises in the world didn’t matter the next day, when I went to see him just in time to watch his car drive away. He didn’t answer my calls, I even sent him a fucking letter. Radio silence, broken only by my Aunt Amelia’s terrible attempts at consoling me.
I wonder what he’s doing back, if he’s one of the contractors…or if he’s the owner...that could get awkward. Well...more awkward. I wonder if he’s with anyone... or married. That makes my heart squeeze tight. He looked good. Really, really good.
Sipping my tea and staring into the fire, I settle in for a long night of feeling sorry for myself. I glance at the space by the fireplace where I usually put up the Christmas tree. I don’t know if I have the heart to do it this year. Aunt Amelia and I don’t usually do holidays together, I like to head down to Florida and visit in February when the weather here is utter crap. All of the friends I have were our friends. Sadly I don’t know which ones I’ll get custody of from the divorce yet. My heart gives another little squeeze when I realize I’ll be spending Christmas alone for the first time.
Mitzy jumps in my lap, her little paws kneading my thigh until I’m suitably softened before settling in and falling asleep. I smile at the furry little reminder that I will not actually be alone. Maybe I’ll put up the tree tomorrow.
4
Enrique
“Ouch, man, sounds like you fucked that situation up.” Jake snorts into his beer, pulling no punches as usual.
“Yeah, I did.” I agree, shrugging because it’s true. “The summer I dated Freya was the best summer of my life. Things got serious and I freaked.”
We’re sitting on the tailgate of my truck, it’s parked in the back of the building. This building was originally a lumberyard, the back has huge double doors and is open for two levels with storage shelves up both sides. Halfway up is a balcony accessed by stairs at each end. The third floor is an open expanse with skylights. I’m going to convert that into my living space, but right now it’s pretty rough so I’m essentially camping up there.
I’ve been looking around, mentally listing the things I want to get after tomorrow. My mind keeps putting, ‘go find Freya and talk to her’ at the top of the list.
“I mean, you were just a kid, what, eighteen? Nineteen?” Jake hops off the tailgate, taking a last swig of beer. “Alright, I’m going home, Maggie’s making meatloaf,” he grins, rubbing his stomach.
“She’s gonna make you fat.” We both laugh, knowing Jake could eat meatloaf six meals a day and never gain a pound. He’s tall and lanky with a mop of brown hair that has a life of its own. His wife Maggie is as short as he is tall with fiery red hair and a temper to match. They just dote on each other, happy as all get out. He waves and heads out the door. A minute later I hear the rumble of his old truck firing up.
I hop off the tailgate and grab our glasses, heading for the kitchen. Setting them on the drainboard, I wander around, shutting off lights and locking up before I head up to the third floor. I’ve got my bed and a recliner parked in the middle of the space. Some tubs of clothes and stuff off to the side, and a table holding my laptop. I’m not unpacking anything until I’ve had a chance to get this level cleaned up, the guys are planning to run plumbing up here tomorrow.
Settling into my recliner, I grab my laptop and look up the bridal shop next door. I’m pretty sure Freya’s aunt used to run the place, it looks like it belongs to Freya now. Freya has accounts on the usual social media. My heart sinks when I pull up her Instagram profile. Her smiling face is cheek to cheek with a guy named Scott in the photo. Looks like he’s some kind of businessman, successful, fancy watch, fancy hair. I already hate that fucker.
Scrolling down through the pictures feels like taking a peek into her life. She’s got an orange cat, a new house...and then I reach the wedding pictures. Damn, she was a beautiful bride. And that’s...that. Setting the laptop aside, I head back downstairs. May as well keep working until I’m tired enough to sleep.
Over the next few days, I keep tabs on the parking lot at the bridal shop. Freya’s car is never there. I try to shrug it off, maybe she’s taking a break for the holidays, maybe she’s already out of town. I don’t know what I would say to her anyway, it’s not like I’m planning to be golf buddies with her husband.
There’s a lady next door running the shop that has one of those helmets of black hair that gets ‘set’ weekly and never moves. I’ve been thinking about talking to her, finding out if Freya is gone or just avoiding me, but I don’t want to be that asshole that sniffs around a married woman.
Throwing myself into the work at the brewery, I try to put Freya out of my mind. There’s plenty to be done and we want to get this place ready to be opened by the new year. I’m planning to work straight through the holiday. I’d usually go to my parents, but this year they’re flying out to Oregon. My older sister had a baby not too long ago and they want to be there for her first Christmas.